Escape from Minecraft
by Sneezy Whale
Summary: Steve is a lonely wanderer, trying to survive in the harsh, rough world of Minecraft. But the longer he plays, his suspicious mount- could there be a higher being controlling his body?
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first ever Fanfic, so don't expect too much...**

**Please review!**

**Suggestions are welcome!**

**_Hayfever Whale_**

* * *

Steve awoke and at once, he was afraid.

Why was he here? For what purpose did he exist?

He was aware of all his surroundings from the too-blue sky above to the harsh, tan sand biting at his toes.

There was something else, too. Inside of him.

A certain loneliness.

The deeply ingrained knowledge that there was no one else like him, and there never would be. He shuddered.

Was he forever destined to be alone?

In an effort to distract himself from such troubling thoughts, Steve decided to further explore the area.

There are trees, he noted. Something told him trees were good.

So he ambled over to one, waiting for something good to happen.

Nothing did.

He sat down, enjoying the gentle shade provided by the leaves over him.

He stayed there for some time, not quite knowing what to do next.

So bidding the tree good-bye, he wandered off in search of adventure.

* * *

The sky was tinged with the palest hint of pink, and panic stole through Steve's heart.

It was going to get dark.

And if there was one thing he knew, it was that the darkness was his enemy.

He looked around in terror, looking for any form of shelter or source of light to run to.

There was none, and the sun had already slipped under the horizon.

What could he do? The end was near, and Steve knew it.

Why didn't I make a shelter? He asked himself in frustration.

He had no one to blame but himself.

He ran as fast as he could, back to his tree.

It seemed to welcome him with its flowing branches.

Scrambling up its trunk, he nestled in its soft leaves.

There were noises now, unearthly sounds of horror.

There was a distant, venomous hiss, accompanied with a vicious snarl.

There were high-pitched squeaks coming from the dark sky, and to top it all off, a sad, faint, rattling of bones.

They all wanted one thing- Steve's blood.

He could tell that was their only purpose.

Who want's me to die? He wondered. Who created all these monsters?

It was all a sick, twisted game, he told himself.

Somewhere, someone was getting great pleasure from his distress.

Well, he thought savagely, at least one of us is happy.

And with that, he leaped off his tree and ran into the darkness.

* * *

Steve's heart felt as if it was going to jump from his throat in sheer terror, and there was an unpleasant numb sensation spreading through his veins.

Why had he jumped off the tree? Was he going completely insane?

He ached to return to his tree, which was beginning to seem like a home to him.

But still he ran, faster and faster through the haunting woods.

He tried, with all his might, to regain control of his body- it didn't work.

He couldn't go on like this much longer, he thought.

His legs were starting to ache, and his energy was slowly but surely running out.

I haven't eaten all day, he though to himself.

But still he ran on.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve's every breath was like a dagger in his chest, sharp and painful.

His stomach was growling in feeble protest, and his feet had gone numb from the constant pounding against the unforgiving earth.

His vision became a little fuzzy, and he could feel his legs giving out.

It was a relief, in the end, to give up.

The grass was gently brushing his cheek, and the dirt was pleasantly cool against his burning legs.

He had absolutely no energy to move.

But some hidden corner of his brain was still pushing him, urging him to get up and run some more.

He pushed the thought out of his mind, but it only returned, and stronger.

He couldn't resist the urge to run- even though his body and mind were both screaming NO!

But somehow, he managed to pull himself off the ground.

And tapping some unknown vestige of strength, he walked onward.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the review, Jason!**

**(I love reviews!)**

**_Hayfever Whale_**

* * *

Steve opened his eyes.

He was in the middle of a desert, with nothing around but sand and scratchy-looking dead bushes.

His tongue was unpleasantly rough, and the soreness in his legs was overwhelming.

What had happened?

And the more pressing question- where was he?

Dragging himself into a more comfortable position, he craned his neck up for a better view of the landscape.

Sand.

For miles and miles, sand.

He let his head fall back.

He shut his eyes, tight, and let the darkness reclaim him.

* * *

When his eyes opened again, he decided the agony in his legs had faded away a bit.

Shakily, he tried to get up, and immediately regretted it.

A gasp of pain escaped his lips.

Instead of lying back down this time, he gritted his teeth and stood up.

The intense urge to run was gone.

And fine time, too, he thought to himself.

Then he took a step forward.

Another step.

Then, exhausted, he sat back down.

Perhaps, he thought, I would heal faster if I had some food.

But what could he eat?

His eyes fell hopefully on a nearby dead bush.

It didn't look very appetizing, but he didn't exactly have too many other options.

His other option being sand.

He reached out, and snapped off a dry, grainy, twig.

He poked his tongue out of his cracked lips, and took the tiniest lick.

Then a cautious nibble...

Coughing, he spat the bit of twig he had tasted out onto the sand.

He was going to have to eat something else.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks again for the reviews!**

**You guys are super fantabulous :)**

**_Hayfever Whale_**

* * *

Steve examined a handful of sand, debating whether or not to eat it.

It would be stupid if he did, but he was so hungry he could eat just about anything.

He was just raising it to his lips when he spotted a small white figure a few blocks away.

It was running around in circles, squawking, and was surrounded by eggs.

Pouring the sand back onto the ground, he hobbled as fast as he could towards the strange creature.

Without a moment's hesitation, he punched it as hard as he could.

It flew back with a shriek, running as fast as it could in the opposite direction when it hit the ground.

He ran after it, and landed a heavy blow on it's back.

It fell over, into the ground, dissolving into a wispy puff of white smoke.

A piece of meat popped into existence.

He picked it up and sunk his teeth into the tender flesh, wolfing it down, pausing only to breathe as he crammed food into his mouth.

Finally, he stopped, still not full but feeling infinitely better.

He could feel the pain in his legs slowly fade away.

He needed more food.

So he walked back over to the spot where he found the chicken and collected its eggs.

He cracked the eggs open and sucked out the runny insides, licking the thin shells clean.

He grinned- finally, his hunger had been satisfied.

* * *

With the pain in his legs finally gone, Steve decided to make his way out of the desert, back to the place where he spawned.

But he still had questions. Where had the urge to run come from?

Not from his own mind- it had to be someone else.

But who?

Steve bid his goodbyes to the scraggly old bush, and walked off into the setting sun.

The setting sun!

Steve whipped his head around.

It was getting dark!

Oh, no, he moaned inwardly.

There was nowhere to go here, not even a tree to hide in.

What could he do?

The hideous symphony of monster voices had begun.

No, he told himself.

It couldn't end this way.

The monster voices were getting louder and louder.

He couldn't see them, but he knew they were getting close.

The urge to run (his own this time) was mounting, but he ignored it.

He, Steve, would stand and fight to the end.

He, Steve, would not go down a coward.

He, Steve, would be dead before morning.

* * *

**Tee hee! Cliffhanger! And yes, I know, you can't eat eggs by themselves in Minecraft. :P**


	5. Important

**Hi guys, sorry about the lack of chapter-ness**.

**This is just an A/N (an important one.)**

**What do you want to happen to Steve?**

**Do you think the story is going too slow?**

**Should he acquire a mob companion?**

**Also, please read and review 'A Ghast's Sorrows", it would make me happy :)**

**Please post your answers to my questions in a PM form, along with any additional suggestions.**

**Thank you!**

**Also, I will post without reviews, but reviews always encourage me to update faster.**

**Thanks!**

_**Hayfever Whale**_**  
**


	6. Chapter 5

**Hi everyone, sorry for the delay!**

**Thank you to the people who favorited me, it really means a lot!**

**_Hayfever Whale_  
**

* * *

Steve listened as hard as he could, opening his eyes as wide as possible in a vain attempt to see around him.

He waited, ready to strike, ready to defend himself.

There was, for a split second, silence.

Then a fist as hard as steel connected with the side of his head, and an _oof _of surprise and pain escaped from his throat.

He swung his fists wildly, trying to land a blow on his invisible assailant.

He felt his fist land on something soft and warm, and it was knocked away.

He breathed hard, awaiting the next strike- it never came.

What came was an arrow, lodging itself in his shoulder.

He yelled in agony, doing his best to wrench it out.

It was no use- he felt himself getting weaker, felt his knees hit the hard earth as his strength ebbed away.

He wasn't done yet.

With a roar, he flailed his arm as wildly as he could, not cared who got hurt.

To his astonishment, it worked- there was the sickening sound of bones snapping, then silence.

A grin stretched his lips- he might make it.

Then a green, mottled, face filled his vision.

It's empty, dark sockets seemed to see right into his soul.

A _hissss _emanated from it's throat, and chills ran down his spine.

The last words that escaped him were "Who... are ... you?"

Then everything flashed white, and he knew he was dead.


	7. Chapter 6

Steve opened his eyes, gasping for breath.

The sun shone brightly from above, and he saw trees all around.

He frowned.

The last thing he remembered was a dry, sun-baked land, not a lush green forest.

He closed his eyes, trying to get a grip on the memories that were already fading away like smoke.

His name was Steve.

He liked trees.

He was a fast runner.

He could kill...

What else? What else was he?

He had been dead, too.

But... he was alive now.

His thoughts drifted back to the chicken he had killed and eaten.

It had not come alive again- how could he?

Was he immortal?

* * *

A few hours later, Steve decided he needed to come up with a plan.

He did not want to die again.

So, wincing with regret, he worked away at a tree until he had four good-sized logs.

All of a sudden, a heady sense of achievement flooded his veins, and he laughed with glee.

He was getting wood!

He worked until he had too many to carry.

So he rested himself under a rocky outcrop, wondering what to do with all his new materials.

He wondered- if he sliced the logs into thin strips, then put the strips together, wouldn't he come out with more blocks?

He raised his fist.

* * *

Finally, Steve was done converting as many blocks as he could- and he had discovered other uses for wood, too.

He had made sticks, and with his sticks he made ladders.

With ladders, he could climb up the tallest trees and stay out of the reach of monsters.

However, the skeleton could shoot his arrows very far, so Steve was forced to build a small wall around the treetop.

But spiders could easily scale the walls, and he put up a roof.

And finally, Steve had shelter.

The simple wooden box on the top of the tree was something much more than that-

It marked the end of Steve's nomadic existence.

No loner was he Steve, the Wanderer-

He had a home.

Steve was home.

* * *

Steve blinked, his eyes still a stranger to the roof above him.

The sun was out and the pigs were grazing, and to Steve it meant only one thing- work time.

But for once, he was bored with the simple, repetitive task of chopping down trees.

He wanted to create something.

So he took his wooded planks, placing them in different ways until something new was made-

A workbench- a crafting table!

He gasped, and fell backwards.

Steve felt a deep sense of power now, a connection to his world.

He knew that he was made to do this, made to craft.

Sheer energy flooded his veins, and he knew why he was here, knew where he was, why he existed.

He could make anything, the world was his!

He had discovered something amazing- but still, there was emptiness.

There was more to be discovered, more to be done.

Immediately, he pulled out some wood and sticks and got to work.

* * *

Perhaps he could create a tool that would make chopping trees easier.

He used two of his sturdiest sticks for the handle, and placed one wooden block on top.

A shovel?

No.

He added another wooden block, to the left of the first one.

A hoe?

No.

He added another block, making three wooden blocks in a row.

An... axe?

It didn't much resemble an axe- much too thin and pointy, the blade wasn't long enough to cut a tree.

What was this tool?

It interested him.

He removed it from the crafting bench and placed it in his pack.

Then he picked up his bench, wishing to place it in his home.

Thoughts of the tool and its possible uses crowded his head as he curled up in the corner of his home to rest.

I really should get something more comfortable, he thought drowsily.

Leaves didn't make for a very comfortable mattress.

* * *

Steve leaped off his tree, yelping in pain as he his the ground.

That was stupid, he thought, though he could already feel the pain fading as he dashed towards the rock outcrop.

As most good ideas do, the correct use of the tool had come to him in the wee hours of the morning.

Not stopping to check for monsters (though there were none, it was still a bad habit) he scanned the rock for a good place to work.

There!

A rock just at head level, easy to reach.

He swung back his pickaxe, burying it deep into the stone.

It cracked.

He swung it back again, and it shattered.

Again!

Again that sense of power, sense of creation!

He was mining!

Two halves made a whole in his mind, and in a sudden rush of realization, he knew where he was.

This sense had only occurred during two activities-

Mining. And crafting.

Mine, craft.

Minecraft.

He was in Minecraft.


	8. Chapter 7

Steve fell again, unable to handle the information that was flooding through his head.

He was one of the few that could destroy, but the only one that could create.

He was life and he was death.

He was the most gentle of creatures, he was the fiercest warrior.

He was logic, he was creativity itself.

He was the water, he was the lava.

Visions flowed through his head like a river of images.

Visions of the most beautiful paradise, a vision of what could only be described as Nether.

An image of a barren wasteland, hurtling through space, occupied by only tall, slender, things.

A beast with three heads, soaring through the sky.

A dragon, huge as a mountain, blacker than night.

And then, nothing.

Void, where all the bodies of dead creatures went.

He had been there, too, though he had no recollection of it.

Steve stayed there for many days, listening to stories of Steves past and traveling to strange, unheard of lands.

He saw the jungle, tall and green, full of life... and cats.

He saw the tundra, icy cold, inhabited only by brave wolves.

He saw the forest, and his heart leaped with joy.

He saw the desert, and he longed for the memory to end quickly.

He saw mushrooms, too, huge ones, and cows covered with mold.

He was a stranger to all these places, but in his heart he knew they were home.

He was in Minecraft.

Minecraft was in him.

* * *

**Yes, I know, kind of lame.**

**Thank you for the suggestions, guys!**

_**Hayfever Whale**_


	9. Chapter 8

When the ferocious rush of memories had finally trickled to an end, Steve slowly opened his eyes.

How dull the world around him seemed now.

Why would he waste his infinite abilities on hitting trees all day when he could be battling Ghasts in the Nether?

Why would he spend his precious days on slaying stupid pigs when he could be brewing up potions of the most fantastical kind?

It didn't make sense.

So right then, without another thought, he rushed back into his house upon the tree, and put all his possessions carefully away in a tiny wooden chest.

All but two.

He kept only two things- a pickaxe, and a crafting table.

The rest were remnants of his old self, and he wanted nothing to do with them.

The old Steve didn't have his memories.

The old Steve would never take a risk, instead choosing to hide from all the excitement in life.

Pitiful.

Not caring what happened, he leaped off his tree and ran into the darkening woods.

* * *

A grin slowly spread across his face as the sun dipped ever under the horizon, the sky slowly being stained red.

This was going to be good.

He stood still, scanning the nearby area for any monsters to kill.

Two zombies on a nearby hill, he noted.

Zombies were too easy, though.

He wanted a real challenge.

His mind drifted back, back to his first death.

The creature that had killed him... what had it been?

The old Steves had refused to speak of it, telling him only that they were a man's greatest enemy.

That wasn't nearly enough reason for him to stay away.

So, crafting himself a quick wooden sword, he set off to find his killer.

* * *

The sun was almost up, and his search had not been fruitful.

However, he had managed to attract a very large amount of zombies that were now following him, groaning and stumbling.

He somehow scrambled up a nearby tree, holding his sword out to knock back any zombies that might find a way up.

He felt warm, foul breath on his shoulder.

With one sharp sweep of his sword, he separated the zombie's head from it's shoulders.

Two more zombies came from the left, and he had to work hard to fend them off.

_Rise faster, sun, _he pleaded inwardly. _I don't want to die again._

* * *

__Finally, the blocky sun rose up from the distant horizon, and all the zombies instantly burst into flames.

Sighing with relief, he jumped off his tree and bounded back to his house in the tree.

He wasn't ready.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve, simply put, was bored.

He stared at the ceiling for half the day, then noticed the food supplies were running low.

So, with a weary sigh, he pulled himself out of bed (he hadn't bothered to get out) and slid down his tree to find a pig.

* * *

An hour's search proved fruitless, and Steve was now so far from home that he decided not to go any further.

He waited on a tall, rocky outcrop for any meat to wander past.

There was none.

He climbed back down, a little bit annoyed.

Where had all the mobs gone?

He wandered aimlessly through the forest, hoping to run across some food.

He watched snow drift lazily through the sky and come to a rest on the ground.

Then he felt his foot break through a thin layer of frost with nothing beneath...

First his right foot, then the rest of him fell forward, through the inexplicably floating snow.

All too quickly, he found himself freefalling in empty blackness.

* * *

**Hello again, dear readers!**

**I am extremely sorry for the appealing lack of updates- seeing as it's Spring Break, I'll be posting a lot more often now. **

_**Hayfever Whale**_


	11. The End- Or is it?

Hello there, my dear readers.

Today I must announce something tragic.

As you know, I have been writing this particular story for quite some time now.

And you know what?

I think my creative juices for this plot have run dry.

So, with great sadness, I must declare the end of Steve's tale.

**But don't go just yet!**

I have something more to say.

I really do like this story (if I do say so myself).

And I don't want it to end just yet.

So, if you want, one of you people can continue it for me.

That would be greatly appreciated.

_**Hayfever Whale**_


End file.
